Okay, I really should be updating one of the MANY WIPs I have ongoing but recent reruns of Being Human have prompted this piece of unadulterated fluff. Seriously, it's just fluff.
It was Mitchell's night to do the washing up and as per usual, he was muttering away to himself as he scrubbed at the crust on the lasagne dish. It wasn't that he was complaining about having to actually contribute to the running of the household: very quickly, the other two had realised that he couldn't stand silence. So there was always music or the TV playing, or Mitchell would just stand there and talk to himself like a mental.
It wasn't like it bothered George or Annie at all. Considering Annie's apparently spontaneous bursts of tea-making or George's tendency to panic, occasionally talking to yourself was actually pretty normal. Sometimes, the pair of them would hide around the corner and just listen to Mitchell talk to himself: it was even better than when the vampire monologued in his sleep and George still hadn't let him live that one down.
The problem with Mitchell doing the washing up, however, (aside from the fact that he refused to wear the marigolds) was that George wanted a cup of tea and the mugs were in the cupboard over Mitchell's head. Mitchell, being the stubborn bastard that he was, refused to move out of the way, so George just ... well, basically spooned him standing up to reach them. His superior height meant the werewolf could practically rest his chin on the top of Mitchell's head without standing on tiptoes too much and Mitchell barely had to duck to move his head out of the cupboard door's line of impact.
It didn't really bother either of them: they'd been in much less manly situations than that before (*cough* when Mitchell had a night terror bad enough that George found him cowering in the kitchen, covered in blood from trying to tear his skin off and had to sleep in the same bed as him for the next three nights, not that anyone was judging *cough*). So Mitchell continued talking to himself and George reached up for a mug so he could finally make a brew.
Unfortunately, Annie had been on a bit of a tea-making splurge earlier in the day, so there were only two mugs left, both right at the back of the cupboard. Even with George's impressive height, he wouldn't be able to reach them without standing on tiptoes properly and he still had to take a step forward for that to be enough.
The result: Mitchell was blocked in on all sides. George's left had was inches from Mitchell's elbow, bracing him on the countertop, while the werewolf's hips were far too close to Mitchell to be considered friendly in any other context but the height difference was such that it was George's hips against Mitchell's waist. George's right leg was pressed right up against Mitchell's and the vampire could easily have rested his head against George's forearm then, had he chosen to. It was weird but both of them were so used to weird that they considered it perfectly normal. Mitchell was still babbling away to himself, even though he was currently talking practically in George's ear.
It was unfortunate that Mitchell, when talking to himself, didn't really pay attention to where he was splashing water and there was a significant patch of water just next to Mitchell's right foot.
Which was exactly where George put his foot to then stand on tiptoes.
Almost immediately, George felt his socked foot slide out from underneath him and he fell with a panicked shout. His outstretched right hand, however, reacted instinctively and he grabbed hold of Mitchell's waist, desperate to steady himself and not brain himself on the kitchen floor because that would be unattractive.
George would never have thought Mitchell would react the way he did. Having half-turned in alarm, the werewolf saw the change the moment he grabbed Mitchell.
The vampire – there was no other word for it – shrieked and twisted out from between George's arms and promptly slipped on the same wet patch that George had. Unfortunately there was no convenient vampire there for him to grab and he hit the floor hard.
"Are you alright?!" Of course, Annie had heard the commotion from the living room and had rent-a-ghosted in almost immediately.
"Ow," was the only response she got from Mitchell, whose head seemed to have collided with the fridge door, because he was rubbed his temple and wincing when he probed a sore spot.
It took George a minute to get his breath back and to slow his heart back down to a more regular rhythm before he could speak coherently but when he did, he knew he had to ask. "Hey Mitchell? What the hell was that noise?"
Mitchell just looked confused, as though he didn't remember the very loud, rather high-pitched noise that had most definitely come from his mouth. "George, what are you talking about?" he asked as he clambered to his feet and crossed to the back door to admire the bruise on his face. It was an admirable attempt at nonchalance but George could quite literally smell the nerves rolling off the vampire in waves.
He came up behind Mitchell and he knew the vampire could feel his larger hands poised over the smaller man's surprisingly trim waist. Even Annie saw him shiver. "When I squeezed you – and that did not come out how I wanted it to –" Annie was doubled over laughing and Mitchell smirked at him in the back door. George had never realised that he could blush such a violent shade of red before but it really wasn't very attractive. "The point is, Mitchell, that it almost looked like you were ... well, ticklish."
Again, Mitchell smirked but in the glass, George was sure he could see something that might have been nervousness but could also easily have been fear, and that was not what he wanted. "George, I'm a vampire, in case you've forgotten. We're not ticklish," he bluntly informed the werewolf, whose face visibly fell. It didn't account for the nerves or fear but there was the whole vampire-lycan hostility thing that could have been equally responsible.
The thing was, Mitchell didn't laugh. Sure, he'd chuckle or mock someone but George was one hundred percent certain that he'd never heard a proper laugh from Mitchell. Hell, the man hardly ever smiled properly, never mind laugh. So he was hoping that he might be able to cheer his best mate up. It wouldn't be manly or dignified but they'd left those two adjectives far behind a long time ago.
Fortunately, Annie was a little less gullible than George was.
"But Mitchell, I thought vampires were more sensitive to things like light and temperature and surely that would mean a more sensitive nervous system in general. I mean, isn't that supposed to be one of the 'cool' things about being a vampire. Surely, if anything, you should be more ticklish than the average person?" the ghost asked, her logical 'I-just-figured-out-something-slightly-complex' tone of voice very present.
Was that a look of nervousness in Mitchell's eyes in the back door? Working with the theory that Annie had hit the nail on the head, George dug his fingers into Mitchell's stomach without any warning whatsoever.
The effect was instantaneous. Mitchell's knees buckled and he slumped back into George's hold, already struggling to hold in his laughter. The little huffs of breath as he tried to keep himself from laughing were utterly hilarious but George had set out to make his friend laugh.
It was lucky that tickling seemed to make Mitchell so weak because otherwise the vampire would already have thrown George off and stalked upstairs to his room, shouting to be left alone for a few hours. It was unfortunate for Mitchell then that none of his limbs seemed to be working quite right and that he was already weak with trying to hold in giggles and laughter.
George very gently laid Mitchell out on the kitchen floor, careful not to stop scribbling over his stomach lest the vampire regain his strength, before beginning to tickle in earnest. Mitchell's stomach was flat and remarkably tanned and flinched every time George's hands moved back. The vampire's hips and lower ribs seemed especially vulnerable and it was a combination of light scribbly tickles and deep drilling over his sharp hipbones that finally broke him.
"Ah! George, no, stop ... " After that, no more words were discernible through the loud, slightly higher-pitched-than-usual laughter.
George tickled Mitchell everywhere. He discovered that Mitchell's feet were ridiculously sensitive but underarms were rather disappointing in comparison to everything else. His ribs were very bad when you played piano with them and anything between the bottom of his ribs and his hips would send the vampire into hysterics. The backs of his knees would have him twitching, squirming and giggling but it wasn't outright laughter.
Still, it was more laughter than George had ever heard from his friend before.
"George, maybe you should stop now?" Annie's voice sounded worryingly worried and George of course immediately stopped.
He really hadn't been paying much attention to Mitchell during that and it was instantly clear that he should have. The moment George's hands left him, the vampire curled up tightly, rubbing his skin to get rid of the tickly feeling, wincing when he realised how sensitive he still was. Mitchell's face was redder than George had ever seen it and there were actual tear tracks on his cheeks. He was also coughing and gasping, like he hadn't been able to draw in enough air.
The real blow, to George especially, was when he went to help Mitchell sit up and the vampire physically flinched from his hands.
Of course, George's subconscious chose that moment to remind him of the fear he'd seen in Mitchell's eyes in the glass of the back door. The werewolf immediately felt like he'd betrayed Mitchell's trust and that hurt more than the vampire's physical fear had.
Annie was gently coaxing Mitchell into uncurling, rubbing his back like you would a scared child, and occasionally whispering that she wouldn't let anyone go that far ever again. It was only after several such minutes of soothing and many more such reassurances that Mitchell would willingly sit up at all. That said, it didn't escape George's notice that the vampire was sat with his back against the cupboard and with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He also refused to look in George's general direction. In fact, he kept his eyes on the floor, and that wasn't like Mitchell.
"I asked you to stop." It took George a moment to recognise Mitchell's voice: the man sounded utterly wrecked and damn, that wasn't good.
"I know, Mitchell." And George did know, he'd heard him say it, pretty much the last thing he'd been able to say. And of course, like an idiot, George had ignored him. "I'm sorry. I should have paid more attention but I got carried away ..." Even as he said it, it made George sick to hear how flimsy the excuses pouring out of his mouth were.
Apparently, Mitchell agreed because he finally looked up and he had fire in his eyes. "Getting carried away is no reason to ignore me! Goddammit, George, I practically begged you not to but you still did. Why couldn't you see that I hate it? Because I do, I hate it, I hate it more than anything else!" And that was clearly not the appropriate response to being tickled, even so violently.
Annie seemed to think so too. "What's so bad about being tickled, Mitchell? I mean, sure I won't miss it but one of my exes – not Owen, George, calm down, it was when I was, what, sixteen – he used to love being tickled, just a little bit. Said it was relaxing and it was good for bonding too, like some kind of trust exercise. I mean, I know George went a little bit overboard but the principle's still the same, really. How can you hate it so much?" she asked quietly, putting a ghostly hand on his knee and just rubbing the bone with her thumb. That was certainly more relaxing for him than the tickling had been.
For a minute, Mitchell didn't answer, apparently having an inner battle over whether he could trust them enough to actually talk. That was another thing both had noticed about the vampire: he would quite happily share a house with you but that by no means meant that he trusted you. Even now, neither of them really had a full picture of his century-long life (and what they did know was ridiculously vague) and this just made that facet of his personality all the clearer.
But even though George had been a prat, Mitchell still trusted them more than he trusted most people (not that that was hard).
"It makes me weak," he replied quietly, trying to avoid their eyes, almost like he was ashamed.
Taking a huge gamble, George shuffled over the kitchen floor to sit opposite Mitchell and very gently raised the vampire's chin with two fingers. He didn't flinch this time but he still refused to meet George's eyes and that would not do.
"Hey? Look at me, Mitchell." It didn't take George as long as he'd expected for Mitchell to summon up the nerve to look George in the eye and damn if the vampire didn't look like he might be about to burst into tears. It occurred to George then that Mitchell had much less self-esteem than his brash attitude might suggest. "Being ticklish does not make you weak, okay? Almost everyone is ticklish somewhere and if anything, not being ticklish is more freakish than being really ticklish. I mean, do you actually know anyone who isn't ticklish?" Slowly, almost childishly, Mitchell shook his head.
"And besides, I was just trying to stop you being so strong all the time, it's not healthy. You need to relax and laugh, Mitchell, and I didn't know any other way. You don't need to be in perfect control all the time and we can help you if you need us to. So it's not a weakness, okay? Really, it makes you just a tiny bit more human."
And that, it seemed, was what Mitchell really needed to hear. All the tenseness and nerves rushed out of him and left him tired and drained, upright only from the efforts of the cupboard in supporting him. But there was still a little flicker of nerves in the vampire's eyes and both of his housemates saw it.
"Mitchell? Is there something else?" asked Annie quietly, now rubbing his shoulder tenderly and George couldn't help but notice that Mitchell almost gravitated to that touch.
He mumbled something that neither Annie nor George could hear properly and they had to ask him to repeat himself, even though he clearly didn't want to.
"Would you do it gently? Tickle, I mean?" he mumbled and George had to wonder how much vampire pride Mitchell had had to sacrifice to ask for that tiny bit of comfort and human contact. Well, he and Annie would just have to make sure it had been worth it for him.
"Of course, Mitchell," Annie replied kindly, sliding behind him slightly so that she could wrap her arms round him but subtly enough that Mitchell didn't really realise why she'd done it. George, however, being right in front of the vampire, had to gently take the vampire by the ankles and rest his now bare feet in George's lap.
"And when I say stop, we stop?" Mitchell blurted out suddenly, nerves clearly being the driving force behind his unusual lack of social grace there. Clearly realising how uncomfortable Mitchell was there, Annie rent-a-ghosted all three of them into the living room and onto the sofa, where they could relax into the fabric and where the werewolf tried not to think about the fact that Annie should not have been able to teleport him at all.
Mitchell however didn't seem to realise the problem and was still waiting for an answer.
"Of course, Mitchell," George told him, before lowering his fingers to ever so gently trace circles on the heel of the vampire's left foot.
Clearly, this was a much better approach because Mitchell started giggling almost straight away, his toes curling immediately but he didn't try to pull away. Annie had somehow managed to remove his shirt while he'd been slumping further down, the tickling still loosening his muscles, but it meant that when the ghost stroked Mitchell's smooth stomach, he jerked and his giggles came a little faster.
"Cold, Annie," he complained through the giggles, his face flushing slowly and his eyes screwed shut but he looked like he was enjoying himself now and that was much better.
George knew he probably shouldn't but he did enjoy being able to touch Mitchell's feet. The soles were soft and smooth and every time his fingertips scribbled on that little spot under the big toes they would curl up like they were trying to imitate a hedgehog but the moment the high arches were stroked, they would relax again, even though Mitchell was still giggling quietly. The fact the Mitchell would willingly place his very sensitive feet in the hands of the person who had quite simply tortured him with tickles spoke of the regard he held George in and that really did feel good.
Annie however had found a feather.
It had been poking out of one of the cushions and she was now using it to tickle the skin in and around Mitchell's bellybutton. It made Mitchell wriggle strangely, like it felt so good he wanted more but at the same time like it was so tickly that he had to try and escape. Annie however followed all his movements, never missing a beat, and with her free hand she was very lightly drumming on his ribs, rubbing the hollows between the bones and pitter-pattering over the bones themselves.
Basically, Mitchell was being put through absolute ticklish bliss and there was no way for him to get away from it.
George had kept a much closer eye on Mitchell's condition and also the time, but they were tickling him so gently that the fact that they had been going for nearly an hour wasn't particularly dangerous. However, Mitchell was getting a little short of breath and George wondered if he ought to stop. As though somehow sensing his intentions, Mitchell pushed his feet a little closer to George's hands: a clear demand to not stop.
"Do you like that, Mitchell?" Annie asked in a slightly sing-song voice that only made Mitchell giggle harder: it was like even her voice was tickly. The vampire could only nod before George scribbled his short nails on a sweet spot right in the centre of his arches and Mitchell's eyes rolled back in pleasure. He didn't laugh this time: he moaned, and loudly too.
"That felt good, didn't it?" George murmured, putting a little more pressure on that spot, so that it felt less like a tickle and more like a massage and Mitchell just melted with another low moan. His eyes were half-mast but George could see how content he was. Those eyes, which normally looked like hard amber gemstones, now looked more like liquid bronze and there was such sweet, childlike, innocent trust in those eyes that George was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him.
Though he didn't think wanting to do something usually made it happen, which meant he had actually kissed Mitchell without even realising.
And clearly Mitchell wasn't entirely clear-headed either because the vampire actually kissed him back and even when high on tickles and massages, he was a damn good kisser.
Even so, George was pretty sure that the bulge in Mitchell's skinny jeans had been there before because no-one could get so hard so fast, not even vampires. Annie put it rather succinctly the moment she realised what was going on.
"Are you getting turned on, Mitchell?" she asked and the only way George could tell she was teasing rather than rubbing it in was her little smile. "Does being tickled like this turn you on?" Mitchell could only nod, gasp, giggle and occasionally moan in response.
With that encouragement, Annie moved the hand with the feather up to Mitchell's nipples and what a sweet spot that turned out to be, because Mitchell would not stay still or decide whether he wanted to giggle manically or moan like he was easy (not that that was a lie or anything). George however had decided to be a bit more proactive than usual.
Which meant, obviously, that he had finished undressing Mitchell and was currently occupied with giving the vampire's cock little ticklish kitten-licks while also spidering his blunt nails over Mitchell's conveniently placed hipbones.
For his part, Mitchell was trying to remember whether he had ever felt this good. It felt better than he could remember a rush of blood ever feeling. The tickles kept him happy and feather-light but he couldn't deny how erotic he actually found it: not something he had expected considering how horrible it felt to be tickle-tortured. Annie's teenage ex had been right: Mitchell had never felt so safe.
He also hadn't expected George to be quite that good at cock-sucking.